


Like (Or Like Like)

by shewasintrepid



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (and plenty of pining), AU - New Girl (esque), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, OTPs and BROtps, Pontmercying, There are no Craigslist killers; this is not a Lifetime Movie.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewasintrepid/pseuds/shewasintrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saying yes to a Courfeyrac's sudden offer to move in with him and the rest of his housemates made sense at the time. It beat the alternative of sleeping in the back of a moving pod while living in a weird Housing Limbo, plus it eliminates the stress of winding up with a serial killer as a roommate all because Craigslist was your main search engine. Instead, Marius' worries are more centered around a certain blond housemate of his, who he is almost certain dislikes him but every other new colorful addition in his life claims just the opposite. Marius isn't quite sure which situation sounds more stressful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Moving Van Makes for a Poor Home

“You have got to be kidding me, Marius.”

Even with several hundreds of miles of land and sea (not to mention the occasional historic monument) between them, the irritation in Cosette’s voice paints a clear enough picture that Marius can see the furrow between her brow and the way she is inevitably chewing through her lower lip right about now. All a part of knowing someone so well after an extended period of time, but that’s beside the point.  

If this were any other time Marius might have wished that she were physically here before him, instead of all the way in London; but now the distance proves rather beneficial, as she can’t actually _see_ the way his shoulders curl forward to make himself appear smaller, nor is she aware of the way he pushes his fingers through his hair with his free hand.

—Beneficial, by the way, in that Cosette can do nothing more than sigh aloud an exasperated “ _Marius!_ ” _,_ causing the freckled male just to whimper a little.

Being attuned to one another is a mutual thing, and just because she can’t see his nervous tics in action, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her answer. Marius’ silence is enough to tell all.

“Okay, so I haven’t found a place just yet,” says Marius once he finally manages to find his voice. “I am trying though. It just isn’t easy to find a place that’s affordable on such short notice, you know?”

Cosette is, thankfully, far too kind to point out the fact that he had plenty of time to go apartment searching when she let him know several months in advance of her newest job offer. The ‘short notice’ excuse he offers doesn’t really fly; it’s his own fault for procrastinating on finding a place. Instead, she simply sighs, “Just a few weeks ago you said that Mabeuf was allowing you to stay with him until you found something more permanent.”

“Yeah, _was_.”

“He kicked you out?”

The both of them know how unlikely that particular scenario is, considering how fond the old man is of Marius. Hours upon hours spent either in the back room of the library, or in Marius’ office, steaming mugs of Earl Grey in hand, poring over translations or simply laughing over the antics their students try to pull can attest to that. It’s a running joke among the other teachers that Mabeuf would gladly adopt the freckled young man, if only Marius would hand over the papers for him to sign.

“No,” Marius sighs. “I left on my own accord.” He’s fond of Mabeuf, he really is, but seeing the way his face positively lit up in his presence, despite all of the extra trouble he had to go through was far too much for Marius to handle. “I just didn’t want to be a burden any longer than I needed to be.”

By this, he means that Mabeuf showed just enough kindness to him to make him feel guilty. Sleeping on the old man’s couch for a few weeks would have been enough; but when talk of getting rid of a few bookshelves to  clear out his office and convert it into an extra bedroom started to come about during dinnertime, Marius, with a sinking heart, knew that it was time for him to pack up and go. 

When he adds this part in, he makes sure to do so in a rush, but this doesn’t quite stop Cosette from exhaling, “Because that’s obviously the solution.” Her voice goes a shade softer now, “Do you at least have a roof over your head now?”

“A temporary one, yeah.” Not technically a lie, so his voice doesn’t go high up like it would if he were stretching the truth entirely. He cradles the phone a little closer. “Like I said before, I’m on the hunt everywhere. I have a few appointments arranged with some people that I found on Craigslist.”

At last does Cosette laugh, and the tiny space he’s enclosed in brightens up because of it. “Well, your housing situation will look up soon enough. Just be careful, alright?”

“I will,” Marius promises, and before he can say anything else, someone calls Cosette’s name on the other line, and some indistinct chatter follows. He falls silent so that she can have her conversation in peace.

When she’s finished, Marius is absolutely unsurprised when she announces, “Well, that’s my cue to go. One of the girls’ mothers showed up early, and I don’t like to leave them alone in the studio for too long. I’ll talk to you soon?”

Trying not to let his disappointment show too much, Marius simply nods and says, “Of course. Have a wonderful lesson, and keep hydrated. That goes for you and the girls.” He allows himself a smile before adding, “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you. And I’ll be sure to do the same as well.”

He can hear the sound of her turning the doorknob now, which means that his time with her is truly limited now. She wishes him luck again, and then bids him off with a (platonic) ‘I love you’ and he returns the gesture (mostly platonic); he hears a small girl cry out, “Miss F!” joyously before the line goes dead.

Well, the conversation didn’t go quite as horrifically as Marius had anticipated.

He’d been dreading talking to Cosette about this for several days now, and tried to put off the topic of his living situation for as long as possible by asking question after question about her time in London, even ones that he already knew the answer to, until, having had enough, Cosette asked, “ _And how are things with you?_ ” Perhaps he should have been a little more subtle. She wasn’t happy when he told her the news, and despite all of the sighing, Marius knew that unhappiness was more rooted in concern than it was irritation. Exes they might be, but they meant it when they agreed to be friends, and at least make an effort to keep up the relationship by talking as often as they can.

In any case, Marius is simply grateful that Cosette didn’t push the issue of his living quarters as she could have.

After setting his phone down, Marius leans over and grabs a fleece blanket from his futon (currently folded up, and he doesn’t have the energy to set it up) so that he has something soft to lay on while he grades these tests. It’s still light outside, so he doesn’t have to worry about grabbing a lantern (some relic from a camping trip from ages past) from the back corner just yet.

As sweet and understanding as Cosette can be about many things, Marius somehow doubts she wouldn’t yell at him if she knew the truth. If she called him an idiot, well, that wouldn’t be untrue, but it’d also be a severe understatement.

Of course, it’s at this exact moment that Marius hears a sudden crash, jerking him away from his thoughts, and dragging a jagged red line down the essay portion of Brielle Rouleau’s test. When he goes out to check the source of the noise, he sees a rather tall, gangly man rubbing his shoulders, a bright purple bike laying at his feet.

Marius sticks his head out a little further and calls out, “Are you alright?”

Much to his surprise, the man laughs, despite the obvious pain he’s experiencing. “All is well, _mon ami_! Sorry about that, I must have given you quite the scare.” He bends down to prop his bike upright. “There was a woman in my path who was walking a bunch of dogs, and it looked like she was having a hard enough time keeping control of them, so I swerved over to avoid them.” He lightly knocks his fist against the shell of the truck, making the inside of Marius’ shelter echo slightly. “Luckily your truck was there to break my fall.”

Their exchange from that point was brief, albeit friendly. After cracking a few more jokes about the whole ordeal, including one slightly worrisome “Thank goodness I don’t work out so often, otherwise I might have put a dent on your truck!” remark, the two men parted, wishing one another a good evening, though no names were exchanged.

After this, Marius rolls the door down completely and allows himself this moment in total darkness, lightly hitting his head against the cold, aluminum wall. No, it’s really a good thing Cosette _doesn’t_ know the truth. Though, to be quite honest, he knows that he brought all of this upon himself.

Even so, he’d very much like to kick his own arse for every single stupid decision that led up to him living in the back of a moving pod.

 “I need to find a place,” Marius utters to himself.

 And fast, before something else happens. Like his truck getting towed.

 An unlikely scenario for most but since he’s Marius Pontmercy, _anything_ is possible.

 

* * *

 

One week, one awkward phone call (and two missed ones subsequently), and more cups of coffee than is probably healthy for any human being to consume in any period of time later, and Marius, true to his word, finds himself once again connected to his MacBook, on the seemingly never-ending quest to find some decent place to live that won’t make him cry in his sleep because of the lease, and isn’t in a neighborhood that won’t have him fearing for his life. The aforementioned appointments did not go quite as well as Marius would have hoped, and he isn’t really counting on any follow-ups from either one of the places, but he’s trying his best to not let any of that dampen his spirits too much.

Which is something of a fair challenge, considering he’s been using a public restroom as a shower for the past week, and one of his students placed some eye brightening cream on his desk before they left for break. (He tried not be too angry, even when they told him “You look like a zombie”, as they passed the offending product in his direction, because they at least had the decency to do so _auf Deutsch_. ~~As long as they’re learning…~~ ) He thinks he’s doing just fine handling everything though.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t occasionally caught off guard.

Marius nearly jumps in his chair when a blue and white paisley mug is suddenly placed at his side, filled to the brim with piping hot tea. He doesn’t have to look up to see who did such a kind gesture; he would recognize those bracelets anywhere.

He looks up anyway, peering into the face of a curly-haired brunette male around his age, smiling so wide that the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. “Monsieur Courfeyrac!” Startled as he initially was, the other man’s smile is truly contagious, and Marius finds himself smiling as well as Courfeyrac takes a seat beside his own.

“Really Marius? ‘Monsieur’? We’re colleagues, and this isn’t the nineteenth century.” Courfeyrac lets out a light, easy sort of laugh. “You can call me ‘Courf’ if you’d like.”

Marius flushes just a little at this, mumbling a soft, “Sorry, Courf”, before pushing his laptop aside slightly, and angles his chair in the other’s direction so that he can give him his complete and undivided attention. “And how are you today?”

Courfeyrac is sidled up a little closer to Marius now, eyes flickering on the now abandoned computer screen for a moment, before answering with a noncommittal shrug of the shoulder. “Decent enough, I suppose. Just caught up in the midweek slump, but I’m trying to keep my energy up. The weekend is so close, I can practically grasp it.” He has some sort of hot beverage of his own (coffee, judging by the smell but topped off with plenty of whipped cream), but somehow manages to reach his hand out and make a grabbing motion without spilling any of his drink over.

“Well, it looks as though you have plenty of energy.” Marius shakes his head, using this opportunity to take a sip of his tea. Earl Grey with cream, a little sweeter than he might normally take it; though he is pleased to taste notes of honey rather than any of the packaged sweeteners that are normally offered. “Care to extend some my way?”

“Nah. I have a Beginning Drama class full of eleven and twelve-year-olds next, not to mention two full days of auditions for _Alice in Wonderland_.” Courfeyrac is still all smiles though, and his elbow is resting comfortably on the back of Marius’ chair. “Trust me, I need the energy.” 

Marius decides to settle his cup between hands, mostly so that they have somewhere to go other than the keyboard. “Fair enough, though, let me tell you, trying to command a class full of those same eleven and twelve-year-olds is no walk in the park if you’re trying to teach them how to conjugate verbs properly. There’s a good number of them who would prefer it if I taught my lessons by having them listen to Rammstein for an hour straight…”

Conversation between the two of them flows easily. The next few minutes is a back and forth exchange of banter mostly centered around whose job is more difficult, with the occasional light jab at one another. Other than Mabeuf, Courfeyrac is probably the one teacher whom Marius feels most comfortable around. Marius actually finds himself relaxing into his chair a little. Perhaps if they knew each other a little better, he could call Courfeyrac his ‘friend’ rather than his ‘colleague’.

It’s then that Courfeyrac switches the topic of the conversation. “Finding housing around this time of year is Hell.” To which Marius makes a vague sound of agreement; so he did see what he was looking up earlier. “I mean, sure, there’s a lot to be found on the Internet but who’s to say that when you find something that does work out, you won’t be living a Lifetime Movie?”

“What?”

“Ever seen The Craigslist Killer?”

Determining whether a person is joking or being sarcastic has never been something that Marius has been particularly good at, and it doesn’t really help that Courfeyrac is wearing a most earnest expression as he says all of this. Then Courfeyrac is speaking again, and Marius ends up missing out on the first part of what he says because he’s too busy trying to figure out if there are any telltale signs that you might end up waking up to a knife pressed against your head because the person you’re potentially living with is exactly the thing Courfeyrac described.

The only part of Courfeyrac’s little speech, punctuated with a few gesticulations is, “—so, you could always live with me.”

“ _What?_ ” It’s really a good thing that Marius didn’t swallow down on any of his tea these past few moments, because he’d surely have choked on it.

Courfeyrac blinks slowly, “You, come live with me.” He pauses for a moment, “And the rest of my housemates, of course. There’s an extra bedroom that’s waiting to be used, if you don’t mind painted walls as décor.”

Marius can’t help but laugh nervously. “Oh, I’m not sure if you want me as a housemate…”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad to live with, Marius,” Courf replies with an arched eyebrow. “Trust me, whatever weird quirks you think are unbearable, I’m fairly certain we can handle it. I mean, sure, some of the paintings R did are a little weird. Especially the giant squid, but it looks really cool at night…”

Since Marius has no idea who R is, or anything about this alleged giant squid, the reference is completely lost on him.

That same sinking, vaguely guilty feeling from before starts to kick in; luckily, Marius is spared from having to provide an answer right away by the chiming of bells, signaling the end of everyone’s morning break.

Courfeyrac rises from his chair and places his hand on Marius’ shoulder, who is staring into his half-finished tea cup. “I’m not saying that you have to move in with me, by the way. I know the offer pretty much came out of nowhere, but you seem like a good guy who’s having a rough time. I’m able to help, because that’s what friends do.”

“We’re friends?” His voice is small, hopeful, and only a little pathetic.

Courf nods, giving Marius a little smile. “Of course we are, Pontmercy.” And he gives his shoulder a squeeze. “So just think about it, alright?”

* * *

 

And, over the next several days, Marius does think about it.

He thinks about Courfeyrac’s offer when he’s seated in the little conference room in the library with Mabeuf, listening to the old man ramble excitedly over the new additions to his herb garden out in the backyard. Quiet and subdued as Mabeuf may present himself, the enthusiasm he holds for things he loves, such as dusty old tomes and botanical life of any sort, is endearing. Instead of wild gesticulations, he wheezes a little in his speech, but he’s kind and generous where it matters most.

He thinks about it when he’s curled up under several layers of blankets in the truck every single night. He’ll have to return it soon; he rented the thing for a week, and he doesn’t want to think about how much extensions cost per day.

He also thinks about it every time he has a cup of tea, or every time he passes by a poster encouraging students to audition for _Alice in Wonderland._ They supposedly finished up the day before, and Marius hopes that every single student interested did show up.

He definitely thinks about it Friday morning, when he’s trying to encourage his students to come up and do a presentation of conversational German in front of the class. Marius has to partner up with at least one student who was left the odd man out (a scenario he knows all too well and tries to avoid as often as possible), and they pick the setting of a grocery store. When Marius asks his student what sort of bags he would like his items to be placed in, instead of _papier_ or _plastiktute_ , the student utters, “I’ll take the ones under your eyes”.  

Maybe Marius’ patience has run out, or maybe it’s the fact that this little clown didn’t utter his remark _auf Deutsch_ , but he sends the student off with a demerit. Then he retrieves the eye brightening cream from several days ago, and applies it during break.

“We’ve all got to stay pretty somehow,” Courfeyrac remarks as he emerges from a stall behind him.

And, finally, he receives a text message from Cosette: **_I hope you know that I am very unhappy with you for missing not one, but three of my phone calls this week. You will be forgiven if you’ve been busy moving in somewhere. If not, then it’s probably best I don’t tell you the consequences via text._**

* * *

“Courf?”

“You can come on in, Marius. It’s not like any of the posters are going to come to life and jump out to attack you.”

It’s later on that Friday afternoon, about an hour after all of the clubs let off, and only a few teachers remain on campus.

A few teachers, that apparently includes Courfeyrac.

Marius smiles sheepishly and takes a step forward, shifting slightly so that his entire body is in the room where Courfeyrac does most of his work rather than just his head and the top of his shoulders. True to description, the classroom is covered in posters; plays, musicals, even the occasional opera. He recognizes some titles, but has trouble placing even more; the posters litter the top half of the walls, giving an interesting, collagelike effect that is very pleasing to the eye. Courfeyrac is sitting on top of his desk, legs crossed Indian style, a flyer of some kind clutched in his hands; his attention is no longer on the flyer, but on Marius, who has a leather messenger bag hitched over his shoulder, and an initialed briefcase in hand.

Courfeyrac sets his flyer down and hops off the desk. “Is there anything that I can help you with? I assume that there’s a reason you came here.”

“Of course there is.” Now would be a good time to elaborate but it takes Marius a moment to find his words. His feet are already itching towards the door, some flimsy excuse ready to tumble off of his tongue but he manages to swallow down on that urge for the moment. “I was…I was wondering…that offer you made, is it still on the table?”

Courfeyrac’s face is blank, which makes Marius panic for just a split second but before he can edge away, turning towards his original, last minute plan, the other man beams. “I would never take back an offer I made to a friend, Marius.”

There it is again. That word. Friend.

Marius is practically bursting with excitement as he watches Courfeyrac pack his things now, zipping back and forth to stuff his own bags with folders full of things he will presumably need for the weekend. There is some sort of wordless agreement between the two men that they will walk outside together and discuss what needs to be done.

Courfeyrac talks in an endless stream of enthusiastic babble as they cross the campus together, the lights of most classrooms still turned on but empty of life otherwise. There isn’t much room for Marius to talk other than the occasional comment here and there but he is more than content to listen about why it’s so perfect that he chose to take up on the offer. “Now Enjolras can’t convert it into the office for all of his blogging, which means he _still_ has to come out in the living room with the rest of us sometimes. Ha!”

He’s about to ask Courf who exactly Enjolras is but stops. He supposes that he’ll meet him soon enough; and Combeferre too, whom Courfeyrac has managed to mention several times despite the walk from the Drama classroom to the school entrance being a very short one.

Somehow, in that time, Courfeyrac manages to tell Marius he already brought the idea up to his other housemates. “They’re fine with the idea,” Courf says with a shrug. “More or less.”

They’ve also agreed that it would be best if Marius moves in as soon as possible, and the redheaded male is about to ask for the address to the place when Courfeyrac interjects again, “Today might even work! I mean, you can just drive your truck over. A couple of friends owe me some favors, so we can move you in this weekend. It’ll be great.”

It’s then that Marius stops. No one at work knows about his truck. He made sure of that. “…and how would you happen to know about that?”

The way Courfeyrac’s dark eyes twinkle is frightening. Oh God. Did…did he follow him without him realizing?

 “A wise man once told me, my friend, that there are some questions in life that are better not knowing the answer to.” Marius swallows down nervously, and he’s about to say something but the other man puts a finger to his lips. “ _Shhh…_ ” He leans in a little closer and whispers, “You’re really not that good at keeping things a secret. I’ve seen you climb out the back of your truck before you take your walk to school.”

Marius bursts out laughing, genuinely and without any inhibitions. “Jerk.”

“The look on your face was too good to pass up,” replies Courfeyrac, looking extremely proud of himself.

That explanation makes much more sense, however. Giving it a little further thought, Marius realizes that he didn’t do a very good job of keeping his situation a secret. His truck is only a few blocks down from the school, parked across the street from a park that many people like to visit in their off time.

Courfeyrac makes several bad jokes about how Marius can cross off being a spy from his list of life dreams, as it could only lead to a catastrophic end for all those involved.

Marius doesn’t mind though. He finally has a place to live, and he can finally return Cosette’s phone calls without feeling too guilt because he finally has some good news to share.

Besides, living with Courfeyrac and his housemates is bound to be nothing else if not extremely interesting.

**  
**


	2. "It's Nothing Personal" "You Sure About That?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update occurs far too late. Roommates are met. Pontmercying occurs. That's it. That's the whole chapter.

Courfeyrac’s flat is a good twenty minute drive from the school. Finding parking on such a crowded street is hell, but somehow Marius manages to find a spot across the street from the ancient, stone-carved building that he will now call home. As he goes around to the back of the truck to grab his briefcase, Courfeyrac touches his arm and says, “Just so you know, we’re on the top floor. We—meaning Enjolras, Combeferre, and myself—got the place when we were still in university. I hope you don’t mind the walk.”

Marius smiles faintly and shakes his head as he slips his jacket on. “Of course not.”

He grabs his own things, and then they’re headed towards the lobby and up a narrow flight of stairs; even with the lack of a working elevator, the trip up feels exceedingly short thanks to Courfeyrac’s penchant for storytelling.

When they’ve finally reached the top, Courfeyrac is still going on: “And then, get this, he was at the dessert table  _the entire time_. I’ve never seen anyone look so horrified in my entire life!” (Today’s topic was centered on his future housemates, possibly to prepare him.) “Not only that but he apologized—”

“Why would anyone apologize for eating sweets?*” Marius interjects, after catching his breath.

Courfeyrac lets out a little laugh. “That’s just how Enjolras is.” At the look of further confusion on Marius’ face, Courfeyrac simply shakes his head. “You’ll understand when you meet him.” Now that the subject is presumably closed and the story over, Courfeyrac pulls a set of keys from his back pocket and offers a face splitting smile. “Are you excited? Because you totally should be.”

Without waiting for a reply, Courfeyrac turns the key and ushers Marius inside.

As the two of them step out of their shoes to set them aside in an area where several other pairs of shoes are lined up, Courfeyrac turns his head towards the sofa. There’s a dark-haired guy, whose arms are adorned with colorful tattoos, who is working away furiously at a sketchbook and calls out, “ _Grantaire, I’m hoo—oome!_ ”

The newly named Grantaire does not look up from his work. “I figured. The sound of your voice echoing up those halls was a major clue.”

Courfeyrac slips out of his jacket and all but tosses his briefcase on the coffee table. “You calling me loud?” His voice is syrupy and there’s a note of mock hurt, to which Grantaire responds with a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

“’Loud’ would be a severe understatement.”

When Courfeyrac crosses the threshold of the room, Marius follows close behind; partially so that he can get a better view of the room, but mostly so that he can shrink away for a few moments longer and delay the inevitability of his clumsy introduction to a new person. This doesn’t appear to be an issue, as the two men are bantering back and forth. When Courfeyrac plops down on the couch beside Grantaire, Marius opts for the little armchair a little way’s away from the two. He isn’t trying to be rude, he simply wants to give them their time to catch up; he’s more than content to wait until Courfeyrac is ready to introduce him.

Anyway, this will be a good time to gauge his new surroundings.

The front room is cozy and well-decorated, in a cluttered sort of way. One of the first things to catch Marius’ attention is a bookshelf so large that it almost takes up an entire wall. Various knick-knacks litter the shelves where the TV is and there is a large painting done in various shades of red and gold and orange, hanging above the sofa.

As he shifts his gaze, the front/living room turns into a small little kitchen area, only separated by half a wall with a little ‘window’ area. Like the living room, the walls are painted a blue that’s soothing to the eyes, and the surface of the refrigerator has piles upon piles of brightly-colored fliers.

There’s yet another person; a bespectacled male hovering over the stove, who is listening to the conversation in the other room with a great deal of amusement. When he feels Marius’ eyes on him, he looks over and offers the now flushing redhead a kind smile. Marius smiles back, just a little embarrassed that he was caught staring.

“Courfeyrac,” says the bespectacled male, “aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend? He’s been very quiet ever since you two arrived.”

Courfeyrac, who now has his head resting on Grantaire’s shoulder, perks up at the mention of his name. “I’m sorry, Marius. That was incredibly rude of me.” He adjusts himself so that he is back up in a normal sitting position. “Marius, I would like you to meet a few people. I say ‘few’ because your social circle will definitely be expanded in the next few weeks, but Fate has deemed it fit that you only meet these two right now so you’re not completely overwhelmed.” He pauses for a moment to smile to himself. “Sitting beside me is Grantaire, who only pretends that he is not pleased to have me so near—”

“Because I’m not pleased,” Grantaire cuts in, but the slightest quirk of the lips betrays him. “Ever heard of a thing called personal space?” He nods in Marius’ direction. “So you’re Marius, huh?”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes playfully before continuing, “He is the person who lived here before you came around. Sorry Grantaire. We traded you in for a newer and cuter model.” He earns a light shove at that. “I’m not saying that you’re  _not_ cute, anyway…Combeferre, who so kindly reminded me to do this introduction, is one of your actual roommates.”

Combeferre has now left the kitchen and is making his way towards where everyone else has congregated. “I take it that you accepted Courfeyrac’s offer of coming to live here then.”  Now that he’s up this close, Marius realizes that Combeferre hovers several inches above him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Marius.”

After accepting Combeferre’s hand for a brief but friendly handshake and expressing similar sentiments, Marius steps back and looks toward Courfeyrac. Oblivious as he generally is to things, he’s caught on to the fact that this is the second time someone has referenced his arrival.

“Yeah, I might have mentioned you once or twice,” Courfeyrac unzips his jacket and folds it neatly before placing it on the arm of the sofa, where it promptly falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.  “Don’t look so surprised.”

Marius, not really knowing what to say, simply shrugs one shoulder above the other. “I didn’t think there would be anything worth telling.”

“You’d be surprised.” Grantaire’s eyes are bright in such a way that makes Marius wonder if he should be worried about what stories Courfeyrac might have recounted thus far. “It’s an honor to finally meet the man behind the legend.”

“Oh, be nice,” says Courfeyrac.

He’s definitely worried now.

It’s Combeferre who tactfully switches the subject. “You must be exhausted, Marius. Since you and Courfeyrac just got off work, I can’t imagine that either of you have had anything to eat in a while. I was preparing dinner for Grantaire and myself, but there is definitely enough to go around and feed everyone. Do you like Indian?”

“Indian sounds great,” says Marius, trying not to feel like he’s imposing. Combeferre is only trying to be kind, and anyway such a feeling is ridiculous.

Courfeyrac takes a whiff of the air and lets out a blissful sigh. “Combeferre’s aloo gobi is to die for when he’s not busy working. Normally I cook, or Enjolras and I have to rely on take out but sometimes I come home to nights like these and it’s heaven.”

Combeferre smiles at that. “Once everyone’s eaten, we can bring up a few of your things so you feel slightly more settled in and answer any questions that you might have about living here.”

It’s quickly agreed that this is the best course of action. After shrugging out of his blazer as well, Marius insists on helping set up for dinner. While he gathers up plates and utensils, Courfeyrac clears away the coffee table and Grantaire gets up to get everyone drinks.

Soon enough there are five plates with generous portions of aloo gobi and some sort of diced cucumber salad. Everyone is about to dig in when Marius, fork lifted halfway to his lips when he asks, “Wait, if we prepared five plates then how come there are only four of us out here?”

“Yeah, generally it’s up to me or Ferre to go and make sure that Enjolras actually remembers to eat, but some days it’s harder to pull him away from his work than others.” Courfeyrac takes an enormous bite out of his food, wrapped up in naan before continuing. “He’s been super busy these past few days because of what’s gone on at the Metro but you’ll see him soon enough. He can’t function off righteous fury forever.”

* * *

By the time this mysterious Enjolras has emerged from his bedroom, all the dishes have been cleared away, Grantaire has said his goodbyes for the evening, and a few of Marius’ belongings have been brought upstairs.  The remaining members of the household are back in the living room, all preoccupied with their own individual tasks.

Marius looks up from his laptop when he hears a doorknob turn and the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway. A petite blond man, whose hair is tied back in a low ponytail, enters the room and Marius temporarily forgets about the e-mail he was responding to. Enjolras bids everyone a good evening, casting a curious glance in Marius’ direction.

“Your dinner is in the microwave and it should be warm enough that you don’t need to reheat it.” Combeferre sets his book aside. “Are you finally going to take a break?”

Enjolras nods his thanks and crosses over to the kitchen. “Not really. There’s still so much to do and so little time to get this article done.”

A faint line of disapproval is etched between Combeferre’s brows but he says nothing other than, “Try not to push yourself too much.” He says this warily, as if he’s had to repeat this many times before.

“And try not to eat while you type,” Courfeyrac adds, eyes flickering back to his phone for a moment.  The buzzing of an incoming text sounds and he seems to light up a little at whomever it is messaging him. “Before you slink away back into your world of informing the public, stay for a few moments. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

“I’ll go to bed at a decent hour,” was Enjolras’ response to his friends’ expressed concern. After grabbing his food from the microwave, he obliged Courfeyrac’s request and rejoined the others.

Courfeyrac places his phone aside. “Well, you know how Grantaire’s bedroom has been empty for ages and we’ve been at a loss of what to do with it? I found us a new roommate.”

Marius, realizing now is probably a good time to speak, offers Enjolras his hand. “Marius Pontmercy. Courfeyrac and I have been colleagues for the past two years.” Now that the other was so close up, Marius could not help but notice what delicate facial features Enjolras had.

Enjolras’ hand felt small in his own and while his grip was firm, this particular handshake felt much stiffer than Combeferre’s. “Enjolras,” replied the blond, just a little impatient.

“Yes and the two of you will get along splendidly, I’m certain.” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Now that took all of fifteen seconds. You can go back to work.”

Enjolras clears his throat and appears to be satisfied. “Thank you.” He turns to Marius. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better in time but I am incredibly busy at the moment. Sorry.”

And with that, he returns to his bedroom without as much as a second glance back.

Marius stares at the spot where Enjolras stood anyway, wondering what exactly just happened. After a few moments, he tries to shake off what was probably the shortest meeting he had with another person and go back to work.

“It’s nothing personal,” Combeferre says in response to Marius’ unvoiced question. “Enjolras just sometimes gets so caught up in what he has to do. You’ll see more of him in the next few days and will have the chance to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Marius does not see or much less talk to Enjolras much over the next few days.

He does get to meet are a few more of Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s (and Enjolras’, he supposes) friends, who are so kind enough to help move the rest of Marius’ things upstairs.

There’s Bahorel, even taller and Combeferre and far more muscular than most people he’s ever met. He’s got an undercut and almost as many tattoos as Grantaire and Marius is extremely intimidated when they’re shaking hands, but Courfeyrac notices and says, “He’s not as dangerous as he looks. Usually.”

Then he’s off to help Bahorel carry Marius’ mattress up stairs, meaning Bahorel carries the mattress and Courfeyrac sort of holds it up when they round corners.

Feuilly helps Marius carry his dresser, plus a large number of boxes. In contrast to Bahorel’s vast frame, Feuilly is small and slender; this in no way prevents him from doing any heavy lifting. He simply pulls his dark, shoulder-length hair up with rubber band on his wrist and grabs a box that Marius was struggling to carry with ease. (A box, by the way, which is filled with nothing but large textbooks that would have given Marius shoulder problems if he had to lug them around on a regular basis.)

A job that should take several hours is cut in half, and soon enough they’re stuffing their faces with the pizza and six pack of beer that was the agreed payment for their labor.

Seated between Bahorel and Feuilly with a slice of mushroom and olive pizza in his lap, Marius has no trouble at all getting to know these two men he is newly acquainted with.

“I’ve known Courfeyrac for ages. Met him way back when the Musain was just getting started out. I can’t even tell you how many scrapes I’ve gotten this one,” Bahorel nods in Courfeyrac’s direction, “out of over the years.”

Feuilly takes a swig of his beer then asks, “ _You_ got him out of a lot of scrapes?”

Bahorel breaks out into this huge smile, which transforms his face entirely. “Okay, so the both of us have gotten into a lot of scrapes together over the years. But what can I say? We have a lot of great ideas that rarely ever go over well.”

“I’ll never forget the Great Pug Incident of 2012,” hums Feuilly, all warmth.

“We’ve had a lot of great times together,” Courfeyrac says, closing his eyes for a moment. “Remind me to tell you about that some time, Marius.”

The sharing of pizza and swapping of stories continues on in a similar manner for the next while, and Marius finds himself growing sort of comfortable with Bahorel and Feuilly. He might have to pretend to like the beer but their sense of humor is wicked sharp, and there is something so incredibly easy about this environment.

Then the front door opens and Enjolras, hands shaking as he grips the strap of his messenger bag, walks in.

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac calls out, to which the blond simply sighs.

Enjolras steps out of his boots, murmurs a barely coherent greeting to the others, and then says something else that’s indecipherable. Marius thinks that he catches the words “meeting” and “compromise” and maybe “imbecile” somewhere in that mess of words.

He looks upset enough to the point where Marius speaks up. “There’s still a lot of pizza left over, if you want to help yourself…”

Enjolras pushes his fingers through his hair. “Maybe some other time. I’m not really in the mood to deal with people right now.” He exhales another sigh. “Sorry.”

Again, Marius finds himself staring at the back of Enjolras’ head as he disappears into the hallway, then listening to his retreating footsteps until finally the door closes and the Pacific Rim theme song starts up a few minutes later.

While there’s a slight feeling of disappointment that, once again, Enjolras has opted out of socializing with him, the look on his face must translate to something akin to devastation, because Bahorel suddenly pats Marius (roughly) on the shoulder. “It’s nothing personal.”

He really hopes it isn’t.

 

* * *

 

"How are the new roommates then?" Cosette asks about a week after Marius has his things settled in. He’s currently outside on the balcony, enjoying the brief spell of silence and leisure that is the weekend. Well, before he finishes his cereal and this phone call to go back inside and grade last week’s film critiques. He’s sure he’s in for a treat, if his students’ reactions to  _Aguire, der Zorn Gottes_ are any indicator.

 "Well, you already know all about Courfeyrac from previous work stories." A smile plays at Marius' lips. "He's great to work with and, ah, even more interesting to live with."

 She laughs at this. "I look forward to hearing more of those stories for sure."                                                                                                

"He's trying to work on a musical based off  _Downton_   _Abbey_  so I'll let you know how that goes." Marius shakes his head before continuing, "Combeferre seems interesting. He's a resident over at the Hôtel-Dieu. I haven't talked to him much but I'm given the impression that he is the 'parent' of the household, more or less." They’re friendly enough, he supposes. “Their old housemate, Grantaire, hangs around the apartment sometimes when he’s not at the tattoo shop he works at. I don’t talk to him much either.”

 "What about the other one?”

“Hm?” He sounds innocent enough over the other line, enough to mask that he was rather hoping that he’d be able to avoid talking about Enjolras.

“You said that you have three roommates. You only mentioned two of them.”

“Oh, well, you see, the other one is—”

It’s then that Enjolras emerges from his bedroom/office, making it officially the first time that Marius has seen him today. Though the blond can’t hear him through the glass door, Marius shuts up immediately.

Thankfully Enjolras does not seem to take notice of Marius’ gaze, which is currently following his every move.

Enjolras, clad in the same dark red hooded sweatshirt that he wore on the day they met, and his curly blond hair pulled into a bun at the top of his head, is more concentrated on pouring himself a large cup of coffee. There are dark circles under his eyes and Marius  _thought_ he heard the tapping of a keyboard insistently when he tried to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning. As Enjolras put his cup in the microwave, Marius began to ponder what it was exactly that kept him working until now.

“The other one is what?”

That is, until, Cosette’s voice brought him back to reality.

“What?” Enjolras was adding vanilla soy milk and cocoa powder to his coffee as Marius tried to recall exactly what it was he and Cosette were talking about.

“Your other roommate,” Cosette reminds him. She’s done this far too many times to be too frustrated with him.

“Oh, right, Enjolras!”

This time the aforementioned blond  _does_ hear him. It would be a surprise if everyone on this side of the Latin Quartier didn’t hear him. Marius said his name loud enough.

Enjolras, who has the bowl-sized mug lifted to his lips, slowly lowers it to glance over at Marius.

Marius flushes immediately. “Crap, he heard me,” he murmurs into the phone, trying not to make his lips move too much. (All while Cosette asks, “ _You’re talking about them while they’re here?!_ ”) He awkwardly lifts his free hand and waves it in Enjolras’ direction. “Good morning!” he half shouts, trying for a cheerful expression, ignoring the fact that it’s half past eleven, and hoping the other will just go along with it.

Enjolras does, for the most part. Or he does his version of it anyway. Rather than the stern expression he’s worn in the past, he waves back and his eyes are a little unsure but at least there isn’t a total grimace on his face. He then takes a long sip of coffee, nods curtly once in Marius’ direction, and heads back towards his bedroom.

“So, yeah, my other roommate. Enjolras.” Marius lays his head against the wall. “I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This was initially a reference to Such a Bourgeois and Unnecessary Form of Sustenance by emmaliza, but I also found this fantastic work of art done by InvisibleInnocence that has a similar concept. Go check them both out if you haven't already. They're both amazing.
> 
>  
> 
> So, yeah, there you have it. Marius and Enjolras met. Sort of. They'll have better interaction next chapter, which I *promise* will come sooner this time around. Thank you for your patience! If I take to long, yell at me on my personal Tumblr (brickcosette) and I'll try not to cry too much.
> 
> Also, this week on Tumblr is Marjolras Week. If you like this little paddleboat, definitely post something!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story was borrowed from a song called Like or Like Like, by Miniature Tigers, which, while not the greatest or most original thing, kind of fits the vibe I'm going for this story. I think. (You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdm-vM_B5h0)
> 
> This is my first venture back into fanfiction for quite some time and my first time posting something Les Misérables related, so I'm both excited and nervous!
> 
> Feedback, kudos, and comments are always appreciated. If I've made any spelling/grammatical errors, let me know and I will do my best to fix them.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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